


The One With The Chases

by Roga



Category: Angel: the Series, House M.D.
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-01
Updated: 2009-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 12:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roga/pseuds/Roga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Chase meets his American cousin and New Jersey is surreptitiously mocked. (Sorry about that.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One With The Chases

**Author's Note:**

> Pay no attention to the timeline! I started writing this fic around House S3, for [](http://lillian13.livejournal.com/profile)[**lillian13**](http://lillian13.livejournal.com/), for having recognized all the fandoms mentioned in [this fic](http://roga.livejournal.com/49323.html). I never actually thought I'd finish it, but hey.

The first time he called her was a week after he landed in the US, when he knew nobody at all from the Princeton area and had three weeks to kill before his fellowship began.

A bored voice picked up the phone after the fourth ring. "Angel Investigations, motto undecided. How can I help you?"

"Is this Cordelia Chase?"

"That depends, do you want to take me hostage or is this about an audition?"

"I'm... sorry?" he asked, perplexed.

"Never mind," she sighed. "Office humor. What's on your mind?"

"Um, this is Robert Chase. Rowan's son."

"Rowan-- oh, my god!" she exclaimed. "Robert! Are you calling from Australia?"

"No, actually. I've just moved to the United States. I… figured it would be nice to contact family."

"I-- that's great!" Cordelia really did sound pleased, which took a small load off his chest. "Although you won't get much in the way of family. Dad's in jail, Mom's got the crazies, you know how it goes. Where do you live? We should totally get together some time."

Slightly taken aback by the casual dismissal of her parents, it took Chase a moment to respond. "Um, New Jersey."

"Good god."

"Um, yeah," he replied weakly. "I guess you go where the job is."

"Hey, I'm willing to go to hell and back for my job -- ask my boss -- but seriously? Jersey's my limit."

"What is it you do exactly?" he asked. "I got this number through my father's secretary. Is Angel Investigations a some sort of detective firm?"

A long, awkward pause stretched across the line, broken at last by Cordelia's overly cheerful: "So, tell me about Australia! Have you ever met Kylie?"

* * *

By the end of his first year in the United States, they'd grown close enough for Chase to consider Cordelia as one of his handful -- well, barely a handful -- of friends. They talked once every few weeks, oftentimes not even once a month, but slowly developed a sort of easygoing, comfortable rapport that allowed them to always pick up where they left off. Many of their conversations consisted of trading work stories, complaining about their respective bosses, and, occasionally, Chase being dragged into giving or receiving fashion advice, to his dismay.

"You should come here," Cordelia told him one day. "Thanksgiving's coming up. You should come."

"Why don't you come here?" he countered.

"Oh, please. We've been over the Jersey thing." Chase snorted; they could hardly go through a conversation without Cordelia tossing a cheeky offhanded remark about the Garden State. "Besides," she continued, dropping her voice to a more alluring tone, "you know you want to. This is LA, baby-- don't you miss the sun, the beach, the bleach? You can almost smell the ocean from my office, and sometime the days are still warm enough to surf..."

"Don't tell me you surf."

"Puh-lease, don't make me laugh. The salt? My hair? Highly unmeshable. But _what_ do I have to do to get you over here?"

Chase briefly considered the question, eyes wandering to the two jackets House had quote-requested-unquote that he pick up from the dry-cleaners.

Chase hadn't taken more than two subsequent days off in a year.

"Can you pick me up from the airport?"

* * *

Although the city of Los Angeles wasn't quite as glamorous as Chase had imagined -- more like a dull, shadowy version of Melbourne -- he found himself having a good time in spite of it. Cordelia was just as lively and amusing in person as she was on the phone, and he enjoyed tagging along as she took him to cultural hot spots and clubs that obviously only admitted them because of their looks. She insisted on cooking a turkey for Thanksgiving meal, somehow convincing Chase that he really _did_ want to help her out in the kitchen instead of taking advantage of the sunny day to go for a swim. If ingredients and cookware occasionally appeared to move around on their own, well, he attributed it to not paying enough attention.

On Thanksgiving Chase met Cordelia's coworkers for the first time. They were nice enough, he reflected -- the atmosphere they created together was far more domestic than Diagnostics, and Cordelia's "slave-driving inconsiderate jealous homicidal black-wearing bloodsucking (just-a-metaphor!) idiot" of a boss was a perfectly pleasant person, if perhaps slightly withdrawn. As much as Cordelia liked to complain, in terms of employee torture, he had -- and Chase suspected no one would _ever_ have -- nothing on House.

It was Chase's last day in LA, and it felt oddly fitting to end his vacation sprawled lazily on the couch, observing the outraged investment of the others in the televised game with amusement, in the comfort of a cramped living room. Burnt turkey and the slow monotony of the game did their work, and he found himself nodding in and out of alertness, finally drifting off to sleep.

The sudden crash of a breaking dish, followed by a sharp cry, woke him up, long after the others had already left.

He jumped to his feet, disoriented. "Cordelia?"

He found her in the kitchen, sitting on the floor between broken shards of glass and clutching her head in pain. "Call Angel," she gasped.

He bent down to examine her closely. "What happened?"

"Please, not now," she groaned. She pushed away his reaching hand. "The number's on my cell. Call him," she repeated, closing her eyes tightly as if to hold off pain, "I'll explain later."

Chase noticed that the cell phone, which -- he was pretty certain -- hadn't been there a moment ago, had conveniently materialized on the kitchen counter. Sensing that perhaps there was more to whatever was going on than a simple headache, and that in any case Cordelia had established that arguing was futile, he made the call.

* * *

Angel came, quickly glanced at a small symbol she had drawn on a legal pad, and left; and for a fitful hour Cordelia tried to sleep, or at least locked herself in her bedroom in the dark. Chase dug up the aspirin he always carried around with him, filled a glass of water, and knocked.

"I'm fine," he heard through the door, her voice a mix of pain and worry and entirely lacking in fine.

"I am a doctor," he said, "just in case you've forgotten. I can work magic on sick people, really."

She replied with a humorless laugh, but opened the door. "A little more magic and I think my head might finally explode," she said bitterly, staggering back to the bed.

He sat down next to her and offered the pill. "Take this. It'll make you feel better."

"Yeah, in the same universe in which a thimble of lotion will be enough for me to style my hair."

"What are you talking about--"

The phone rang, and Cordelia grabbed for it. "Gunn?" she asked immediately, tensing up. For a moment she was completely still, and then her shoulders slumped, and she heaved a great sigh of relief. "Good. God, I hate you guys. Don't expect me in tomorrow, I'm going to go get my eyeballs massaged or something. Oh, you bet you can tell Angel that, I don't care if he's been skewe--uh, I mean, Skoo… ward… um, bye." She hung up.

Chase caught her gaze directly. "Feeling any better?"

"Well," she said with mock cheerfulness, "my head still feels like it's being put through a pasta grinder, but at least I get to play hooky tomorrow."

"Okay. Well, my flight leaves in eight hours, so," he crossed his arms, "there's plenty of time for you to explain."

She looked down guiltily. "It's just a migraine?"

He raised an eyebrow. He didn't even have to believe 'everybody lied' to know she wasn't telling the truth.

She sighed. "You know, when I said I would explain earlier, what I really meant was 'give me time to make up a passable explanation'."

"The 'Skoo ward'?"

She winced. "My head really hurts," she offered as a weak excuse.

"Look," he said. "I've been here for a week. I've accepted the fact that I don't know the particulars of your job, or the reason your boss arrived here tonight wrapped in a thick wool blanket. I've managed not to mention the way things keep moving around independently in your flat. I've even taken your word that those containers in your fridge are filled with old tomato juice you're keeping for the neighbor kid's science project, even though it looks about as probable as my boss wishing me a happy birthday ever, and all this just because you're my only normal kin and I actually _like_ you. But now you're exhibiting _medical symptoms_. That, I can't ignore." He paused, unused to delivering long speeches and rather surprised at himself. In a softer voice, he said, "Tell me."

Cordelia stared at him, searching his face for something. Finally, her expression of intense concentration gave way to one of surrender. She sighed. "Boy, are you gonna be sorry for this…"

She started talking.

* * *

Nearly another year passed before Chase finally convinced her to come and visit him in New Jersey.

Okay, so it weren't so much his persuading skills as his offer of temporary refuge from the current attack on her office by outer-dimensional demons, and bribing her with a weekend in New York City certainly didn't hurt -- but the important thing was that she came.

The first thing she did, of course, was order him to take her to the nearest shopping outlet -- "This state's only saving grace," she proclaimed, pulling out a credit card which she glanced at mournfully and then shrugged. "And you're coming with me before I gouge my eyes out, Mr. Clashes-With-The-Universe. I mean, _really_. Plaid?"

Chase looked down at his perfectly sensibly patterned sweater vest. "What's wrong with it?"

Cordelia covered her eyes with sunglasses, as if they could somehow block out all the fashion disasters in the world. "Come on, let's shop before you destroy the Chase name entirely."

Six agonizing hours later Chase was the fresh owner of the complete fall catalogue of some designer store or other, and while he contemplated where exactly he was supposed to place this whole new wardrobe, Cordelia, at least, seemed satisfied. When he noticed her trying on some dresses and returning them to the rack upon reading the price tag, he wordlessly added a few to the shopping cart. "My treat," he said when she tried to protest. "Or my father's, if you want to look at it that way. I can't imagine making better use of the bastard's money."

"Buying yourself a Rolls Royce?"

"Look, do you want these dresses or what?"

"Shutting up now," she said quickly.

Later, he took her out to dinner at a nice Japanese restaurant a few blocks from his apartment. "All right, listen," he said, carefully dribbling soy sauce over his sushi. "You're sure you want to meet me at the hospital tomorrow? Because I can pick you up the minute I finish work and we'll go do something."

"Tour the Turnpike?" she smirked.

He almost flicked a bit of soy sauce at her, but estimated that staining Cordelia Chase's clothes would not go over well. "New Jersey's finest," he promised. He'd braved the outlets for her; nothing could be worse. "It's just, see, I could _pick you up_."

She took a sip from her water glass. "Give it up. I've heard so many stories about your hospital, I have to see what it's actually like." She flashed him one of her patented toothpaste-commercial smiles. "Besides, you wouldn't deprive me of an afternoon surrounded by cute doctors, would you?"

"Cute doctors," Chase snorted. "You must be confused with the me who works in a TV Hollywood hospital. In real life, doctors are your average regular old stubbled jerks."

Cordelia expertly scooped the last grains of rice with her chopsticks, mirth twinkling behind her long eyelashes. "We'll see about that. I bet they don't call it Prince Charming Teaching Hospital for nothing. Or whatever."

* * *

"Okay, which one of you guys spanked Chase with a cactus?" House demanded the next day.

Chase paused his pacing and tried not to sputter. Cameron hid a grin.

"I'm expecting com--"

"Yeah, yeah, we get it," House rounded on him. "You're expecting company. We're all very excited that Little Robert finally made a friend, but unless you're expecting the Queen, there's no reason you can't do it _sitting on your ass_. You're giving me a headache."

"I just--"

"_Sit!_"

Chase surrendered and sat down.

"Good puppy," House said, going back to flipping through his magazine.

"Right," Chase muttered under his breath, "can't think of a reason I wouldn't want her to meet you guys."

He was doing his best to remain composed, but his legs were urging to get the hell out of the office. On the one hand, Cordelia could obviously stand on her own and it could be amusing to see her face off a trademark, harassing-in-every-possible-category House. On the other, it was nice to have someone in his life whom he _liked_ and who still held a modicum of, you know, _respect_ for him, and with House around and flinging his cane all about, well, all manner of things could be shattered into pieces. Modicum of respects included.

Wilson stepped into the office, hands on hips. "Did someone page me?"

"Yes," House smirked. "Watch this."

Chase's pager suddenly came to life and he jumped, fraught nerves tensing, fumbling with the pager that somehow escaped from his hand and catching it right before it collided with the floor.

Feeling himself flush, he checked the page. It was from House.

House looked at Wilson. "Cool, huh?"

Wilson kept a straight face. "Hilarious," he said dryly. "Chase, you doin' okay?"

"Peachy," he said sourly, tucking the pager back in his belt and walking over to the glass door again, peering anxiously down the hallway.

And there she was, finally. Cordelia Chase, dressed to kill in one of the new dresses she'd bought, an elaborate red arrangement of cloth that draped and clung in places he tried not to look at, and classy black heels that echoed every time they touched the floor. Chase felt like a protective older brother and a proud boyfriend all at once. When she saw him, she smiled brightly; he waved at her to come in.

Turning around, he found the others had all converged behind him to stare at the diva making her way toward the office. He stepped aside to give them a clear view.

Forman's eyebrows shot up. Cameron scowled. Wilson whistled.

"Hot damn," House said.

"Seconded," said Foreman.

Wilson had a calculating look is his eye. "Just imagine what we could do with an extract of their genes," he mused. "Market a line of cosmetic products. We'd be rich."

House looked at Chase. "So _she's_ your date?"

"I told you," Chase rolled his eyes, "this is my cousin. I don't suppose there's any chance you'll be nice."

"Aw, you've found a family member you don't hate! Cameron, where's your hanky, I think I feel a tear coming on."

"I don't carry a handkerchief," Cameron said.

"Of course not, I meant Wilson."

Wilson ignored House, while Chase did his best to ignore the entire circus taking place behind him. "Right," he told Cordelia when she finally arrived, in a tone that was not at all more rushed than usual. "So this is the office, doctors, whiteboard, strange pink ball of unidentified origin, I think that covers the tour, you ready to go?"

Cordelia smiled charmingly. "Slow down, Robbie."

And that was absolutely delightful, Cordelia calling him nicknames just to torture him in front of House.

"Yes, Robbie." House smirked. "Slow down."

"Thank you for that," Chase muttered to Cordelia.

"What, you've met my boss! It's only fair I meet yours too." She extended a perfectly manicured hand to House, and then changed her mind and directed it at Wilson with an absolutely lethal smile. "Cordelia Chase, nice to meet you. You might recognize me from the 2000 Windex ad campaign, it went national." She paused. "Wait, when it goes national, does that include New Jersey?"

"Funny," Chase said dryly. Wilson, on the other hand, looked charmed.

"Dr. James Wilson," he introduced himself, taking Cordelia's hand chivalrously, eyes crinkling at the corners. Oh, Jesus Christ. "The less attractive doctor next to me is House, whom I've sure you've already heard about. He'll probably say something offensive within the next few seconds. Don't take it personally, it's a mental condition, he can't help it."

And this was getting worse and worse by the minute, Chase thought, desperately trying to figure out a way out of there as quickly as possible. But Cordelia's eyes were just narrowed with approval, like she was an rich heiress appraising contesters on _The Bachelorette_ or something, and if she wanted to stick around his office and flirt with his boss's peers then fine, but Chase didn't have to be there to watch it. Because the next thing House would say would be something like --

"If she didn't want people to stare at her boobs, she'd have done something to cover them up."

\-- that. Cordelia's right hand tightened around her purse and oh, lovely, his demon-fighting cousin was going to kick his boss in his crippled leg, that'd do wonders for Chase's career.

Instead, though, Cordelia directed a regretful look at House, and said, "Oh, pity. You actually stood a chance until a moment ago." She leaned in closer. "I was even willing to divulge some family secrets about Robbie. Oh, well."

House's eyes narrowed, and really, this was getting too painful to watch. It was time to take a stand. Chase was ready to drag Cordelia into the car and away from further sources of potential embarrassment for him. However, Chase also wanted to keep his testicles, and forcing Cordelia to do anything was probably not the way to go about that.

"So I'll just be in the car," Chase stated. There seemed to be some kind of unspoken Mexican standoff going on in the office, so he was mostly ignored. "Right, then."

* * *

Cordelia joined him in the parking lot fifteen minutes later with the news that they'd be postponing the trip to the City for a day because she was meeting "Eric" for drinks tonight with Chase, and hoped he didn't mind (not that she was actually asking).

"No, of course not," he said, making the way to his car. "Foreman's a... great guy."

"So why do you let him get to you so much?"

"What, Foreman?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes and gave him a pointed look.

"House? House doesn't get to me," he said.

She rolled her eyes again. "Whatever."

"Look, House is an _arse_," Chase acknowledged, "and a spectacular one at that, but just because he gets away with it doesn't mean I let him get to me."

"O-kay."

"Shut up."

Cordelia looked about to say something, but closed her mouth abruptly. Her eyes focused on a man in a hospital gown, walking barefoot between the cars. "Looks like we have company."

"Damn, he should be in the hospital," Chase said. "We should go offer help--"

Cordelia's fingers wrapped around Chase's wrist. "I don't think so." A moment later he felt a -- yes, all right, so that was a wooden stake that was just slipped into his hand.

"You've got to be kidding," he said. "How can you tell?"

"He was in the morgue earlier."

The man -- or, well, whatever it was -- had spotted them, a predatory look in his eyes. "You visited the hospital morgue?" Chase asked, eyebrows flying up.

"Part of the job."

"That's just disturbing."

She grinned. "Wait till you see what happens next."

Chase had never seen a vampire slain before, and -- all right, yes, it was disturbing. And not very hygienic, he thought, shaking his legs to get dust off his shoes. But then Cordelia pointed out another vampire slinking towards the hospital doors, this time in a nurse's outfit, used Chase as bait to get the vampire closer, and then let Chase stake it himself.

"Wow," he said when it was over and he was done sneezing. "That was..." He searched for words to describe his feelings, and finally settled on: "Empowering."

Cordelia smiled. "Hell, yeah."

Chase grinned back. "Can I--"

"Yes, you can keep the stake."

"Cool."

Cordelia slapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Don't let it get to your head. We're not Slayers, this thing gets dangerous. You should leave it to the pros."

"Right, right, yeah," Chase agreed. "So can I--"

"No, you cannot go back to the office and slay your boss."

Chase was absolutely not disappointed to hear this entirely rational statement spoken out loud.

"Don't pout," Cordelia said. "You can always daydream about slaying your boss -- believe me, it helps. Now come on, you're taking me out to dinner."

He took her out to dinner. It was lovely; they ordered fish and drank champagne, she teased him for his clothes and his hair and he gave her pointers about Foreman, and they split a chocolate soufflé with strawberries for dessert, and they talked, and they laughed.

It was the last clear, joyful memory he had of her. After she returned to LA a few days later, he never saw her again.

* * *

It was gradual, the way they slipped out of touch. Cordelia became more and more withdrawn, harder to reach; she stopped talking about work, and then a while later, stopped calling at all. Her co-workers apologized uncomfortably, offering no explanation, which Chase knew to mean there was no explanation they _could_ offer. And then, one day, Chase received a phone call from Angel.

"She's in a coma," Angel said, sounding exhausted. "I'm sorry. Don't come here; there's nothing you can do."

Chase felt something heavy in his chest; a deep, weighing sadness, mingled with helplessness. His cousin was dying from an illness he was unequipped to cure, and he was stuck -- in fucking New Jersey -- working for a man who seemed to be doing his best to get himself arrested.

A few months after that phone call, he got another one, this time from Wesley, whose voice cracked as he gave him the news. "Thank you," Chase said quietly, and went back to the case they were working on. He flew to LA the next morning, and stayed two more days, for the funeral. He felt like there should have been an honor guard, like someone should have fired a salute; instead, it was just him and her coworkers, a few friends from highschool and her parents. The funeral took place in the early evening, just after the sun's last rays disappeared from the sky.

When he got back to Princeton-Plainsboro, he quit.

* * *

Chase did not name his daughter Cordelia, or Cory, or Caroline. He remembered his cousin with a smile when Cameron burned the turkey in Thanksgiving, or whenever he crossed the state line back to New Jersey. Sometimes he could almost hear her voice telling him to get a haircut. And he thought of Cordelia when they went out at night and he kept his eyes open, aware of what lurked in the dark, trusting the world's invisible protectors to protect them.

Chase had a good life. He and Cameron still worked at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. They lived in the suburbs. They celebrated holidays with coworkers and their children. They spent Christmas vacation in Melbourne and Wilson watched their dog and the goldfish.

When Chase's daughter started sneaking out at night after she turned sixteen, everyone thought she was having a secret affair with Andy Foreman. Chase and Foreman pretended not to know, and when their wives were looking, they also pretended not to spend most of their free time gossiping excitedly about their children's love lives.

And of all possible ways to be disillusioned of the notion, it appeared that destiny chose the worst. Chase decided that the universe truly hated him and that, in return, he hated the universe back, on the day that he greeted his daughter in her room, sneaking back in through the open window, and noticed the dust on her shoes.

**Author's Note:**

> ETA: and now with a coda by [](http://sabrina-il.livejournal.com/profile)[**sabrina_il**](http://sabrina-il.livejournal.com/)! [See the Chase siblings interact](http://roga.livejournal.com/250590.html?thread=2655198#t2655198). Will make more sense if you've read my [House/Star Trek XI](http://roga.livejournal.com/244258.html#cutid1) crossover, which basically says Kirk is Cameron's son. Because it's canon.


End file.
